When Lust Meets Greed
by Long story
Summary: Suffering from an oddly late identity crisis, Cody finally gets to satisfy his second desire via his straight brother, Zack—but not without some bloody service charge.
1. Deal Or No Deal?

p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"strongAuthor's Note:/strong/p 


	2. Final Fantasy

**Chapter 2: Final Fantasy**

"Okay," I heard my own voice.

I made a deep breath, which only now I did it.

I turned around to face him for the first time not sure since when, and our visions formed a line. His face was straight, with cards in hands, and doing some slow shuffling motion. _That_ was a real Poker Face.

He didn't wait until I began waiting before he spoke again. "Serious?" He made a heavy nod at the word. "Because I am."

I looked at his shoulder. Then down to his chest. He puzzled me with his steady breathing, shaking his body following some mental beat. He was calm, which I was trying so hard to pretend one.

"Cody?" he said again, slipping the deck back into his back pocket. Then he turned back to look at me, with eyes relatively wide, but brows at ease. "Seriously Cody I think I can do it. If for one thousand."

I tried to find a new spot to gaze at, but that time everything that I was seeing kept being distracted by a trailer of flashing scenes extracted from various versions of my fantasies combined. There was me stripping down the foreskin . . . Me sliding my finger below the ring of the freshly exposed bell-end . . . The wet sticky surface upon the touch . . . His moan above my head . . . "It's closing in Cody . . . it's close . . . close . . . about to flow into . . . ahh . . . into the shaft . . . ahh . . . at the root now . . ." My thumb pulls back one side of his glans . . . forcibly gap open the tip . . .

Spurt! Splashing wet my forehead . . . Dribbling down and fully covering my eyes . . . Spurt! Slapping hard my left cheek and even onto one side of my nose . . . Too much that it flows into the edge of my mouth . . . And down to my neck . . . Spurt! Hitting the inner side of my readily protruded lips . . . Into the cavity between my lips and teeth . . . My face is now like the topping of a birthday cake, with cream that is oddly slimy.

"Cody . . . I came . . ." he moans out of panting . . . breathing loud . . . "Ahh . . . Cody . . ."

"Cody," he keeps calling my name.

"Cody?" he asks. Huh? Why did he ask?

"Codster!" a shout penetrated into my ears. My brain finally returned me my eyesight. Zack was already showing a pair of crumpled brows. "Deal?"

Then I realized my hand was right in front of my gaping mouth, wrapping about a stick made out of air. I quickly twitched my arm. "Yeah. Deal."

"Really, Cody?" he asked again, now beginning to shake his leg. "One thousand?"

It took me one second of dumb stare, to fully shut my critical thinking down, to block any reasoning from getting in. And finally, upon a signal from the back of my head, I nodded.

"It's a grand, Cody," he spoke again, with a flat tone.

I nodded again, displaying some certainty on my face. "What about you then?" I asked him. "You okay with it? I mean . . . You feeling alright with it?"

He diverted his gaze from mine, then for the first time, I saw him taking a relatively deep breath. "No I'm not. I'm _not_ feeling alright," he said, with eyes staring at the space beside me. Then he shot me a gloating glare. "But I'm _thinking_ alright."

I was beginning to feel guilt for my action. Yes he was right, I wasn't thinking right. "I'm the exact opposite here," I told him. "I was feeling so right, but upon thinking . . . it's stupid."

"So you fucking want it or not?" he yelled, scowling at me out of the blue. "Don't let me think twice!"

"Okay, I want it," I responded quickly, the sentence had never passed through the frontal lobe of my brain. I just let it out. I couldn't let go of this sudden surge of craziness that struck him. This could be my one and only opportunity, to realize my heart scratching fantasy, to get it for real, to taste him for real, and to do so, I had to be crazy as well. But still, a small drop of consciousness managed to ooze into my head. "Make it eight hundred?"

"Okay just cancel the deal."

"Okayokay! One thousand."

The exchange was fast. He wasn't giving me a chance at all. No bargain was possible. He'd known me all too well. He knew how much I wanted it. He knew how deep my desire was, from all the conversation I'd had with him.

"Ahaha . . . Good." Then in a sheer sudden, his gloating eyes blinked into a narrow leer. His hand jumped toward the front of his pant and his body flexed inward, then his palm began to grind, his groin. "Oops . . . Codes I think I'm hard."

I trance out. A wolf possessed my fingers. I was lusting to scratch things down. My jaw shivered, teeth rapidly knapping each other. I had run out off air in that thorough sigh upon his words. His hard-on.

"Fuck off!" I barked. "What're you doing!"

Another blink, and he was back to his trademark smirk. "Kidding. Hehe . . ." His entire act had left me petrified, and the next thing I realized was that my penis twitched.

"What? Did I make you hard?" he said. Then he glimpsed at me down there. I glanced down, and saw a pulsating tent poking my jeans rhythmically from the inside, peaking higher and higher.

I immediately crossed my legs, so to conceal the visible bulge. Then I saw him straightening up, laughing. "I've just seen the answer~" he twanged melodically, and _that _if not mistaken was the chorus of Lady Gaga's _Monster_.

He continued to hum the rest of the melody, before he suddenly stood up and looked at the direction of the door.

"W- where are you going?"

"The internet café," he said, adjusting his buckle head. "Unless if you can fix the Wi-Fi in our room." Then he inserted his hand into his pockets—"but . . ."—and pulled out his hands together with the bags in them, showing me some empty pockets. He looked at me apologetically. "Oops . . . Forgot my wallet . . . Would you mind? Three dollars?"

I grunted.

"Thanks!" He smiled, somehow pretty genuinely, almost sweeping away the snarl on my face. Then he strode over to the door, grabbing the handle. "You're going or not?"

I jerked my eyes up almost rolling them. "Owh right . . ." I shrugged, then I stood up and followed him. "But ATM, later."

It was strange that he could clear the air that quickly, the entire tense atmosphere just blinked gone, and _that_ was real magic. I admired him for that, and for that, I love him. So much.

* * *

><p>"M-m-m-m-m-MONSTER KI-FIRE IN THE HO-<em>Braaiin . . .<em>" The internet café was soaked with noises from various kinds of games, with only a faint voice of Celine Dion singing _My Heart Will Go_. Much as I like that song, I still preferred listening to Christmas songs for now; it was still December and had only been three days after Christmas.

"This is why I hate this place," I said to Zack on the chair besides me. He was cupping his chin in front of the monitor; and on the screen, it was still loading Facebook. "And the line is snail-slow!"

He was still staring at the spiraling worms at the Google Chrome's new tab. Then failing to yawn, he replied. "So when's the one thousand?"

I instantly blocked any remaining voice of my about-coming sentence. I made a new sentence, for the sudden shift of topic. "I suppose it's nine hundred and ninety-seven?"

He made a sullen snort upon the look at my face. "That's why I was asking you! 'Would you mind spending three dollars for me?'" he retorted. "And looks like you do."

"Okay fine. Forget about the three dollars," I said; in fact I had more to say, but before I could continue further, he spoke again, "We'll do it prepaid. KFC style."

I hesitated for no longer than a few seconds before I nodded. It didn't matter either when I was going to hand over the cash to him, he wasn't going to run away anyway. "Okay, we'll dig it out after this."

"Good," he said. Then I saw his screen was already displaying Facebook's News Feed. I looked over to my own, and saw mine had finished loading too. And thus with quite some joy on my face, I turned to him. "Zack, see this one, my fan fiction."

He tilted toward me, with eyes on my screen. "Where?" he asked. I smiled, then I clicked on "The Suite Life of Dylan and Cole Uncut!" This time it finished loading pretty quickly. Upon the look at the brick wall of words, he yawned, just as I'd predicted. "So . . . Who fucks who?"

I almost yelled at him for his choice of word, but not to complicate the situation, I suppressed my arguing spirit. "Not yet reaching any explicit part though. It's going to be a long story," I told him. "For now I'm still building the reasons to break his straight, I mean Dylan; put him in my old shoe; and hopefully in several more chapters, he could be lusting over Cole and then . . ."

"Wait," he stopped me. "Cole's the one who looks like me, right?"

"No, you look more like Dylan," I said. "Cole's the one I like. He's more of a twink."

"See! You better just go fuck yourself!"

I threw him a stabbing glare. "Your voice!" I grunted.

"Dude! Nothing's wrong with that!" he said. "Not that I've mentioned about your thing thing."

I let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine. So you're reading it or not?"

"No."

Thus, I hit the X button with a loud groan and closed the tab, leaving me dumb-gazing at the desktop, arms crossed.

"Ugh . . . C'mon. Stop behaving like a baby." He looked at me with a smirky frown. "Here. I've got something to show you."

I rolled my gaze over toward him at a small angle for a brief peer. He was clicking on somewhere on the screen but I couldn't see the cursor. But it didn't grab my interest much, something else did. It was at the corner of his jeans, on the zipper, a slight bulge. I wonder if it was more than simply a fold of the denim fabric. Then at some point, I had just gotten driven to make it sure when his body spun around toward me. "Ta-da! 'Peter Answer'!"

I bent over toward him. "Huh? What's that?" His screen had switched into another page. The page was dull. There was a maroon rectangular tab on the center of the page, with two blank bars in it, respectively labeled with "Petition" and "Question."

"It's Peter. A spooky guy that can answer you _any_ question," he told me, jerking his brow. "Now ask a question. I'll type it for you."

I wasn't sure what the whole thing was about; who'll be answering me actually? "_Any_ question?" I asked him. I was skeptical right upon hearing such a thing. He made a big nod, half-bowing. So I just went ahead and picked a random question. "What's my name?"

Soon I heard him typing. I looked at the "Petition" bar, and there appeared the sentence "Peter, please tell me." He paused, stealing a short peek at me, then returned to the screen. Next he shifted to the "Question" bar below, there he keyed in "What's his name?"

"Now watch carefully," he said, leaning into his chair so to make room for me to bring my head closer to the monitor. Then he pressed "enter."

Loading . . .

The page refreshed, with an additional row of word below the two bars. "Codester," the word spelled.

I tried to hold my twinkle, though involuntarily I still did. "H- h- how did you do it?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "Go ask Peter."

I felt challenged. "One more question!" I said. I theorized that the answers were preset, so I had to ask a question which is specifically known at only a particular time.

"Go ahead then," he replied, with a head dance joining his smirk.

"How much am I paying Zack?" I said.

"Okay then," he said. Then he repeated the whole thing. He typed "Peter, please tell me" in the "Petition" bar and my question in the "Question" tab right below it. Then "enter."

"1000," the answer appeared after loading. He began whistling.

So the answer couldn't have been preset. And after thinking of it twice, I was beginning to get suspicious of that "Petition" bar. I mean, what's the point of it anyway? Why must there be a "Peter tell me" to ask a question?

"So much for the retired magician," he said, sneering together with his _hand_-_made_ quotation marks. "Wow it must've taken a biblical CPU to delete such amount of data clean off."

That was an insult of intelligence. Yeah I knew I'd had developed quite some passion in magic, but that was some four years ago! Who the hell would remember the details of something that far back in time!

"When and where are we going to do it?" I threw him another one. "Now answer that."

"What a long one," he sulked, then he was typing again. I focused at his keyboard, but he typed it all too fast that my eyes just couldn't catch which keys he had pressed. When I looked back up and there was already a "Peter, please answer me" in the "Petition" tab. Then he continued the rest, enter, and the answer showed up. "Dunno u decide."

"Okay, enough for that." He closed the tab. I could tell that he knew I was almost going to see through the trick.

He went back into examining his Facebook, and I leaned back into my chair, looking around, and a final peek at him before deciding to open my Twitter. "Say, where'd you want to do it then?" he said, looking at his monitor screen. "And when?"

Casual though the way he was asking me, but still I couldn't dodge it, the reminder about the magnitude of what we're saying, the magnitude of what we're going to do. "Err . . . Y- your room? I guess? 'Cause you know Marcus more than I know Woody. You can decide the time better."

"They'll accompany London doing her shopping at the town. They'll be going at six. They won't be back until just before curfew. They'll gather in London's room. She'll be wearing a pair four-inch high heels that is suitable for the atmosphere and mood . . ."

"Waitwait!" I stopped him. "How'd you know all these stuffs?"

He reclined onto the chair, and gestured at the screen with his hand. I looked over to his screen, and what I saw—a long list of London's status updates which were not on her Wall or Timeline, but on the News Feed!

"Oh. So it'll be tonight," I said, back into my chair. "Just either one of our room?"

"_Your_ room," he answered.

"No, _your_ room."

His face swapped stern, shuddering as he leaved his monitor and spun about his rotatable chair and toward me. "Why?" he asked, accentuating the word. I didn't see what was actually behind his big reaction.

"Because . . ." I managed. For some psychological reason, I really didn't prefer my own room. "My room . . . It'll feel like there's Woody present on his bed, watching us as we do that thing."

"Then in my room I'll get fucking reminded about _this_ thing every day!" he barked, repeatedly pointing at the floor like he was going to poke a hole on the ground.

"Uh . . . oh . . . sorry. Never have thought of that." I felt sorry for him, which I shouldn't have, the hell it wasn't like he was going to do it because I forced him, nor had I begged him. I paid! It wasn't free!

"So your room, then," he said.

I nodded. Heck I wondered how many times had I nodded today. Then just as I was about to turn away and redirect my sight at something else, he grabbed my shoulder, on the left side, and yanked me back into facing him. "Now what?"

"Cody, I want to make it sure." There was a tiny but still noticeable stutter in his voice, and I wondered if only now did he get nervous. "It's _you_ sucking mine, isn't it?" he asked. "And not the other way around, right?"

I jerked my head back. The question struck me as silly, and nonsensically stupid. "Well of course it's _me_ giving you the blow . . . err . . . yeah. . . ."

"Say it clearly. Who, sucks, who?" he asked again, with voice as stern as his face. I was beginning to worry about his volume when he added again, "I'm not doing it if I were to suck yours!"

I clenched my fist, but then as I looked around, I noticed no one was hearing us either. I sighed in relief. "Tsk." Then I stooped closer to him. "_Me_, sucking yours," I practically just _said_ it, not whisper.

"Okay good." He gave me a thumb-up. Then he smiled again. "Hehe . . . Just worried, in case it's the other way around."

"No, I don't particularly like doing the reversed version," I told him. I was really hoping Zack could understand my condition more in-depth.

"Weirdo," he replied, throwing quite a suspicious look at me. I knew he understood me only stereotypically, not the way I really was, and so I felt the need to elaborate further, but that was when a chat box popped up on his screen. "Oh! Maya!"

My brain arranged me a sharp draw of air and a light jab onto my knee. "What does she want?" I asked. Then I saw his fingers bombarding the keyboard with vigorousness he'd never before shown except when playing games against pros.

Finished typing, he hoisted up both hands and sank into the chair, gazing at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. "Cody, forgot to tell you," he said. "I have a date with Maya tonight."

My eyes popped. "What?"

"Not really a _date_ actually, it's more of a_ meeting_," he told me while still leaning, which none of the points caught interest in me.

Then he bobbed up and turned to me with a sorry look. "No, it's okay!" he said, holding up his palms facing at me in an attempt to calm me down. "Wait, I'll try asking her if we can simply cancel it." He looked back at the monitor. "Oh no she's offline!"

My spine straightened, at the worrying possibility that it's _our_ date—no—_plan_ that was going to be called off.

He pulled out his cell. "Don't worry, I'll call her." Then he dialed, and waited.

"Hello?"

"Yeah . . . I know."

"Yeah. It sure was. I liked it too."

"Yeah. She always did that."

"Kind of. But true it is."

"At six, of course I do."

"Yeah. Just wait for the Zackman! Haha. See ya later."

Then he hung up, and turned back toward me simpering with his tongue out.

Really, I swear that time I had thrown at him the worst face I'd ever made at anyone or at any oil spill and toxic leak newspapers strip.

"Codes," he fucking voiced. "Make it tomorrow. Can we?"

I didn't answer. But thinking that not that I couldn't wait for another day, it shouldn't bother me much to be submissive—no—_permissive_ for another time.

"Hmm!" I groaned, loud enough to indicate my irritation.

"Great. Tomorrow nine in the morning?"

I nodded. There was no problem with the timing as Woody usually left the room pretty early in the morning. Zack just knew him so well.

"Okay, set." He snapped his fingers and stood up.

My scowl quickly followed him up. "You're done? But there's still so much time left!"

He tightened his belt. "Yeah I know, but let's go to the Plaza Deck"

"For?"

"ATM."

* * *

><p>I keyed in my password, then the figure "1000", which casted spell onto my fingers, making them really heavy. And then the last step left me hesitating.<p>

"What're you waiting for?" Zack said behind me. Distant enough not to see my password. "Hit the green button!"

With my tight-shut eyes, I did. I couldn't believe I was going to throw away this crap load of money for something like this. A gigolo would be far cheaper. But I wasn't into cheap stuff. I wanted an ace-class guy.

After making a noisy rumble, the machine spat out a thick pile of purple-grayish banknotes. I snatched them fast, and stuffed them into my wallet.

Zack gave me an uncomfortable look. "So when will I get a hold of that?"

"Just before the service. Like KFC," I told him. "So I'll still have a long night for a thorough think over."

He nodded understanding. Then upon a sudden twist of his neck, "And Cody," he said, briefly pointing at the ceiling and with a worried wide-eyes, "No kissing."

I froze. A moment of thinking.

"Oh, no worry on that," I tell him. "I won't get to your face." I don't usually fantasize kissing him either. I simply couldn't imagine things that are against plausibility.

"And . . . and there'll be no squeezing hugs. No love bites . . ." he continued, as if trying to recall a long list of don'ts. "And above all, no hickeys!"

I was thrown into silence, partly disapproving the "no hugging" and partly wondering what's the difference between "love bite" and "hickey."

But no, I couldn't take it. No way was I going for it without any form of hug at the slightest degree. And thus I suggested an alternative. "Okay let's put it like this." I cut an imaginary line across his chest with my hand. "I'll only touch you from this line down."

He tucked his chin into his neck, looking down at my hand on his chest. "Nah." He grabbed my hand and pushed it down to his belly. "Should be from _this_ point down."

I yanked my hand up, and tucked it into the region right below his chest. "Here! Up to the diaphragm!" Then he grabbed my hand again, but before he could do anything, "This is for one thousand US dollar!" I reminded him.

He gave in, loosening his grip. "Okay." He sighed. "Up until the diagram." Then he flicked my arms away.

"It's 'diaphragm'," I corrected him.

"Yeah. Whatever." He shoved his hands into his pocket and moseyed around me, which soon enough an old lady hobbled in. "Let's go," he said. "Before somebody hits me with her bag." Then he walked away, me following behind.

I walked with him through the hallway. "Zack," I called him as I overtook him. "Zack."

Now I was on the front as I was walking backward. Then I turned my voice sheepish for the next line. "I'll be err . . . _sucking_ you until . . . it comes out, right?"

He nodded, but was looking at the ground, with arms crossed.

"And Zack . . ." I slowed down in front of him, blocking his way, and gradually bringing us into a stop in the middle of the hallway. "Zack . . ."

"What?" He dropped his arms hanging, and made a sullen frown. "What you fucking wanna say now?" he asked, with a tone a little bit resembling mewling.

"Zack, that time . . . when we're doing it. Your hands . . . could they do something like caressing, fondling . . . and such?"

He seemed to stress out, scratching his head. But soon he finally rested his arms on his waist, recovering upon a heavy snort. "Depends," he said. "We'll see how it goes."

"What you mean with 'depends'? It's one thousand dollar!" I yelled, feeling like wanting to whack his head. "Please. Yes, I'm pleading now. Zack!"

He whipped away. "We'll see," he replied, bobbing his head.

"And one more thing," I said.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, looking very annoyed.

I sucked in some air. "Could you . . . moan?"

He pulled back his glance, and completely facing the other direction. He began tapping the floor with his back toward me, arms folding again. "We'll see."

"Zack! It's one thousand!"

"Let's go back." He motioned with his head and strode away, completely ignoring my question, and not bothering if I was following or not. But still, I did.

I was behind him again and was about to pick up speed when—"oh!"—he suddenly halted. I almost bumped into him. He turned around. "So means I couldn't jack off tonight?"

The realization struck me with awe. That was the wisest thing he'd uttered today. "Of course you can't! I want it full-load!"

"Okay, noted." He poked at his head lightly with his finger, then turned back around.

"And eat some chocolate!" I ran toward his front. "And some celeries!" I added. "Also some pineapple juice!"

He gently swiped me to the side. "Yeah I know about that thing much better than you do." Then he began to continue his walk. "But I'm not taking pills," he scowled at me.

I nodded. Then he took another step, before he halted again. "And careful with your teeth."

What a silly reminder. "Yeah I will. Oh do you mean people stuck their teeth often when doing that?

"No. But there's a high bet that you're among the odd."

"Pfft."

"Let's go," he said, and then walked away; and we proceeded making our way to the boys' cabins.

We reached the front of our doors, which are right in front of each other. I saw he jerked the handle about to go in.

"Zack," I called him again as he walked in the doorway.

He jerked his head. "Now what?" He was standing inside the room like about to shut the door close anytime soon.

I couldn't understand myself that time as an abrupt urge to sing suddenly burst into the channel of my throat . . .

"_I bought your love and, I bought your revenge, you and me will write a PAID romance..._"

"BAM!" a thunderous slam stopped me right off. His door was smashed shut a few feet away in front of me, marking the end of significance for that day.

I stood there before my own door, one hand on the handle, the other one on my back pocket which contained my one-thousand-dollar-filled wallet, the things that I would trade out in exchange of my first time on heaven, the very moment in which I would forgo the Earth, the very instance of something final we called "life."

* * *

><p>The circle of light disappears. A cloud hides away the moonlight. There I return to present, in my pitch-dark room, with Blankie in hand.<p>

This is too much. I knew I shouldn't have recalled back the event this afternoon, now I'm even more awake. Damn, if it's not because of that stupid date, Zack and I would have finished doing it already, and now I'll have to wait for a full seven hours, which would be only an instance away if I can simply fall asleep. I need to do something to put myself into sleep. I need to tire myself, which perhaps a good way is to do my nightly ritual that sure will wear me out mentally and physically. And with that, I set Blankie down on the bedside table next to my head.

I pull my cover up to my neck, to better wrapping myself. I couldn't risk myself to Woody suddenly waking up and seeing me doing self service in the middle of the night.

My whole body is under the cover, only my head lying outside of it. I checked upon Woody one last time making sure he is dead asleep, then I look at the bathroom door, for every time I would hold the fire and release it into the toilet bowl. And then with everything secured, I let out a final sigh. I prepare myself for this last pre-visit to heaven.

I run my hands down, not to fast as to avoid any loud rustling, and tuck my thumb into the edge of my boxer. Quickly I pull it down and rest the waist band around my thighs, and my member flicks up like a wobbly man, only much jerkier, immediately rubbing against the silky surface of the cover, which is totally odd because usually upon release it would simply tumble down onto my navel. But this time however, it just refuses to go down, even forming a huge tent across the cover. Tonight it's just so inexplicably hard.

I grab it around the shaft with three fingers, not wrapping it with entire hand for that will finish things up all too quickly, and then I slowly push the foreskin up, so that it rewraps the whole glans. Then I pull it back open again. And with that I close my eyes, and let Zack fills my thought in this every-night movie. Only that tonight it'll be different. I have to adjust so much on the details so that it goes along with reality, also I couldn't just release my seed as usual. I have a theory that fully loaded testes and glands will bring more sexual excitement over empty ones, which I should save it for tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to do it with myself fully loaded. Upon noting that, my hand begins fondling my hard-on below, and the picture starts moving in head.

_He's sitting on a chair, leaning, and legs open; and I'm kneeling below him, my head is sticking near the corner between his thighs. The tip of his hard-on is right above my nose, about touching._

_There's no pube, no bush; just pure white crotch, rooted upon by an obelisk of heavy flesh, leaning at about forty-five degree, twitching occasionally at the breaths from my nose. I bring my nose closer. I jam his tip into my nostril. Then I inhale._

I touch my own hard-on right below the ring of my glans, wetting my finger with the moisture; then I bring it over to my nose. Sniff. "_Aahhh . . ._" That's how it smells like; Zack's member.

"_Now fucking take it all in," he says, thrusting his hip forward, his penis hooking my head up and to the back. _

"_Okay," I replied, and to no hesitation and restraint, I stuff the giant into my mouth. I manage to tuck in the glans behind my teeth._

_I push further down, and take in more than half the length. It's like a sausage._

_His head is thrown to the back, mouth open and his jaw quivering like wanting to bite the air. "Ahhh," I hear he makes a loud sighs. Then in a total sudden, his shaft flexes up abruptly._

_It drags my entire head up upon its swing. I practically lift my entire body up, to join the motion. My head eventually touches his abdomen. _

_He begins panting; and slowly, his shaft relaxes down, slowly, until it's back to its initial angle. My head follows it down; it's like a gearstick that actually controls me._

"_Again . . ." Zack summons me from above with a breathy voice of an old man._

"_Aahhh . . ." Another loud sigh. "Quick . . ."_

_And with that, I get myself ready to impale my own throat. I slot his length into my mouth, like a katana into its sheath._ _Tight fit._

_Slowly, his length shoves in deeper and deeper into my mouth. His tip advances across the surface of my tongue. Then reaching the end of it, into the throat._

_Halfway along his length, "ngaahh . . ." this time he moaned, for real; for there is vocal instead of pure gushing air. And thus I continue. I push it further in, even deeper._

_Starting from some point along the length, my mouth eventually have to gape to the widest as the diameter increases down the root. But at last, I feel my lower lip nudges against the skin holding his hanging testicles._

_I go for one final push. His penis head latches deep in my throat, the entire bell-end is now behind my tongue. Then I realize my lips have fully kissed the surface of his crotch. I move my lower lip, left and right, fondling the rather loose skin below._

"_ARGH!" he groans loud; and instantly I feel tremor spreading along his length; oh no it's about to flex up again, only this time it has been all in and into my throat._

_His penis begins to swing up, and I can only wince at the incoming catapulting. Just in time though, Zack throws his upper body forward and incurvates into his waist—"ugh!"—and that nullifies the upward swing of his length, saving my head from being hooked upward in a violent stir._

_His body is now bent forward, practically crouching; only that he's sitting on a chair, with my head still stuck at his groin. "You still okay?" he asked with quite a worried look on his face, about to straighten back up. I nodded, totally forgetting that his whole length is still deep in my mouth, and thus jerking it altogether._

"_ARGH!" he cringes again in a wild swing of his upper body, sending his abdomen and chest into an arc over the top of my head._

_With his shoulders somewhere on top of the back of my head, he holds my head with both hands like holding a basket ball, and pushes me gently into his abdomen; then I feel his hard-on relaxes a little, recovering from the flicker. "Don't worry," he tells me. "I don't lean back into the chair; we'll continue like this."_

_With him proceeding in his current position, he tucks his finger into my hair and carefully pulls my head away, slowly unsheathing his length, revealing centimeter by centimeter of wet white skin, until his tip reaches the tip of my tongue; and there he stops; and jams my head back toward his crotch._

There I pause, halting my train of thought, and I slow down my stroking hand. I can feel my testes have just squeezed out the sperms into the duct. This means I have to jump to the part where Zack hits orgasm.

"_Arhhh!" Zack groans, jerking my head up and down along the axis of his length. His entire length goes in, and then out of my mouth, wildly, and rapidly. His skin and my tongue are fondling each other._

_His whole length is getting noticeably harder and harder. I can feel that with my tongue._

The root of my length itches.

"_Codes! Get ready to drink! ARH!" he groans, very loud, like a father going to give birth to a child. "ARGH! Watch out it'll be more than a mouthful! ARH!"_

I stopped my hand.

_His entire form halts, his toes shrink, head thrown to the back, eyelids and fists tightly clenches; and it's a split second of silence when "AARGH!" an outburst of liquid in my oral cavity instantly filling my mouth full._

_I quickly pull his length out when "ARGH!" an elephant load of semen smashes onto my entire face, and it starts to dribble down._

_I tried to lick the slime trickling down beside my mouth when "UGH!" I feel my shoulder like has just taken a shower, of viscous mayonnaise._

_He's panting hard, with a very loud breathing through his snarling mouth; his face is like just being tortured by intense pleasure._

_He looks down at me, with eyes hardly open, then he pulls my semen-topped face over to his member, and levels my slightly gaped lips right in front of his tip, which is still oozing out excess semen. "Don't waste it."_

_I smile to him. Then I cup my lips onto his tip, and slurp in the remaining bit._

"_Great job, Codes," he says, still panting hard. "I think I'll just . . . make it free then." He takes in a deep breath again. "It's free Codes . . . It's just . . . too great."_

And there the show ends. I sink back into my mattress, panting hard; with hand still wrapping my steel-hard erection. Good thing I managed to hold the fire just on time. I must save it for tomorrow. Tomorrow I must enjoy it to the fullest.

The only thing that I realize is that I am so exhausted. And with my all-too-tired state of mind, I can finally put myself into sleep, awaiting the real thing tomorrow. The thing that is not my mental movie, the thing that happens without me directing it, the thing that goes through my senses, the thing that is material, and real.

30


	3. First Reality

**1. Sorry for the slow update.  
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**2. Explicit content warning. Especially to those straight guys who read this story just for "fun", a huge portion of this chapter might not be suitable for you. Viewer's discretion is advised.  
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**3. Due the huge time gap between updates, it is advised that readers reread the story since there are something in chapter 1 and 2 that I hope you can intuitively connect to as they read chapter 3. But it's still up to you, though.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: First Reality<strong>

My eyelids flap open almost simultaneously as conscious thought replaces my dream. I sit up under my cover, and see Blankie lying lifeless on the floor. Not even bothering to pick it up, I struggle for a sharp image of my alarm clock resting on the side table. The needles are pointing at seven o' clock, half an hour before it's supposed to ring.

I locate the circle of light to confirm the time. The circle is up on the wall, still hasn't gone down the floor, roughly indicates the same time as my clock. Yes. It's seven. I always find the Sun convenient at times when I doubt over my clock, for it won't get broken and doesn't run on battery.

Then noticing that it isn't the only thing that has risen up, I glance down below me. Oh, morning wood. I wonder if it's the same one from last night. Nonsense . . . Well actually this is one of the reasons I need to get up before Woody, I don't want him to see this awkward sight. He'll probably think that I'm sex-dreaming by knowing nothing about REM sleep and all that.

He's sleeping like a corpse—though corpses don't usually snore—I'm not sure if I should wake him up to reduce the probability of him leaving the room late today or just let him wake up naturally.

No. I'm not taking the risk. If our plan today is somehow cancelled, I fear this odd combination of hormones and nerve impulses in Zack will never occur again. Today, we _must_ do it! So Woody _must_ wake up now!

I get on my feet . . . pick up Blankie from the floor, set it on the side table . . . then I walk over to Woody's bed. I examine him closely before deciding on anything. I don't want to wake him up when he's in deep sleep because if so, he'll be waking up with high sleep inertia which will make him too groggy to not return to sleep. But he's lying in supine position—with a tent of his own. So he's now in REM stage of sleep and could hit the briefawakening anytime soon, and that will be the perfect moment to wake anyone up with the least sleep inertia.

So I slide back toward my bed, and set my alarm clock to ring ten seconds later. Now I simply have to pretend sleeping. Usually my alarm has no effect on him, but I'm sure it will during his briefawakening later, for that is when people wake up naturally.

Seconds later, the clock rings.

* * *

><p>It's been ringing for quite some time. I look at the needles—7:06—it's been ringing for a full five minutes. I'm about losing my patience. Realizing that these scientific theories only apply to human, I'd better just wake him up manually. But then a small moan comes from his direction. He's waking up. He's a human!<p>

Immediately, I stretch my body, as if I just woke up, "Ugh . . ." and stop the alarm noise while rubbing my eyes. I look toward his direction. He too is rubbing his eyes.

"Morning." I pull off a huge grin, satisfied that he doesn't know that it's me contriving his waking-up.

"Morning," he answers me, still sitting on his bed—he should be heading for the bathroom!

"There's no one in the toilet!" I tell him.

His lazy squint turns into a confused frown. "Why should there even be one?"

"Well who knows if I'm still inside?" Argh what the heck am I saying! Before he could make another face, "Oh you can forget what I said. Now go wash your face and everything." Then I give him a Zackish smirk.

With a still confused stare at me, he stands up, and walks pass in front of me and enters the bathroom.

I sit on my bed, waiting for my turn to use the bathroom, and at the same time worrying if Zack hasn't wake up yet. But what to do, then? Call him? His cell is always in silence. Knock his door? Too soft then he can't hear, too hard then I'll wake Marcus up too. Argh! There's nothing I can do!

* * *

><p>I've just taken my shower and brushed my teeth.<p>

"Woody have you seen my Listerine?" I call from the bathroom. I can't start my day without getting my everything clean.

"You mean the new pizza with cheesy mayonnaise ring around the topping?"

Really, I was so stupid to have asked him that. "Never mind, fine," I reply. What makes me think Woody will know something that he'd never used anyway?

I return to the room, and see the clock is pointing at eight o'clock. I hang my towel on the wall and grab my cell. Two missed calls from Zack.

"_Phew!_" So he woke up already. Quickly, I call him back, waiting for him to pick it up. The ring-back tone has rung several seconds, before I finally cancel the call. He's not answering, which I guess he's taking his shower now.

I get my eyes back toward Woody. He's on his desk with his laptop, not sure what he's doing, presumably on his Better Life. I hope he wouldn't be late going out today though, and I really hope he'll somehow leave earlier.

My cell vibrates in my hand. I look at the screen, and it's a text from Zack.

"Woody still there?"

"Yes. I guess we really have to wait till nine."

After sending my reply, I set aside my cell. Then I unlock the drawer of my desk and pull it open. There's my laptop. I lift its butt up a little, and take a peek at the deck of purple-grayish sheets.

I briefly touch the bills, and flip them on the edge with my thumb, one by one, counting, to make sure they're of the same number. It has to be ten.

Satisfied, I take out the laptop, resting it on the desk after closing the drawer. I turn it on. Sigh . . . And there starts my one-hour wait.

* * *

><p>The clock is pointing at nine, and the circle of light has moved down over to the floor.<p>

Woody flips shut his laptop. He leaves it on his desk, and then stands up.

He sits back down.

He takes a bottle of mineral water on the floor, holds it in his hand, and reads the label. Then he turns the cap. Wrong direction. "_Oh come on, Woody!_"

He finishes half the bottle. Then he tightens the cap, and stands up again.

I wait patiently as he lumbers across the room.

He reaches the door. "Have a nice day!" I exclaim as he touches the door handle.

He twists his neck around, for a dumb stare. Can't find a word for reply, he goes off shrugging.

The door latches. Then I hear his footstep pacing along the hallway outside.

There I grab my phone. It's time for Zack to come! I punch the "call" key when the door suddenly reopens. I look up, and it's Zack leaning on the door.

"Wow you're fast."

I stand up and walk toward him. He ambles into my room, arms on waist, running his eyes around the ceiling and the wall and everything like a first-time visitor. He folds his arms and spins around toward me with eyes still wandering across the room. "No hidden cameras?"

"No." The shortest reply works best for the craziest of nonsense.

"Just being precautious." He raises a brow and scans me from head to toe. "Well who knows if you're wanting to record this once-in-a-lifetime shit."

"No," I say. "I didn't even have thought of that." I stride toward the doorway seeing the unclosed door. "Oh wait. So who's the pervert here? I bet there are cameras all over your room to record all your actions with each and every girl you've slept with."

"No I didn't!" he retorts. "I'm just being extra careful because nerds are perverts on the inside!"

"Stop your stereotypical accuses!" I slam the door behind me. "It's groundless and then it's nonsensical!" Zack has always got so many theories in his head and just loves to apply them with little or no confirmation at all—the way idiots do.

"Fine," he says. "So where's my money?" He flicks his fingers and opens up his hand wide before my face. "Before you get to drink your _mushroom soup_."

"Can't you wait?" Another peek at the door handle to make sure it's locked, and then I walk over to my desk, grab the knob of the drawer, and yank it open. Zack smiles at the sight of the money.

I take out the cash, and fan my head with them, showing him a gloating grin as I strut over to my bed.

"Now give me that." He throws out his arm toward my hand full of money.

I slap his hand away. "Yeah but I, too, have some precautious steps with you," I tell him as I sit down on my bed.

He sits down beside me. "What steps?"

I grab both his hands and pull them closer to me, then I twist them palm-up. He begins to frown.

"I'll put a hundred-dollar bill on your left hand, and then you move it over to your right hand. And only then will I put the next hundred-dollar bill in your left hand. And so the process repeats."

He scowls. "What's the point?"

"So that no hundred-dollar bills will magically disappear and _you_ claiming that I don't pay you the right amount."

"Oh come on. I won't do that to my baby brother."

"Baby bro . . ." I grunt, "If I still am to you, you wouldn't have charged me this much . . ." Then I place the first banknote onto his left hand. "One hundred."

He slaps the money onto his right hand. "Not that you'll help me on my economy crisis either, so nor will I on your identity crisis." He lays a finger on my chest. "—For free."

I swipe off his hand. "Though you could just refuse to on the first place. This is wrong anyway. Once yesterday you said yes, you know I had little self-control to say no." Then I press the second sheet of money into his left hand. "Two hundred."

He moves the money to his other hand. "And maybe you shouldn't have even mentioned about the money. You know I'm broke now. And you're giving me just what I'm needing."

I nod . "Three hundred." But then I smile upon recalling something. "Zack, you know what," I say, "I've found the trick behind Peter Answer."

He slaps the money onto his right hand. "Really? Explain briefly."

"Type 'dot, *desired answer*, dot,' in the petition bar and it'll appear as 'Peter, please answer blah blah . . .' What a cheap trick."

"Wow Google is amazing."

"It won't be as amazing when _you_ use it. Four hundred."

"Can't you do it a little bit faster?" he complains. I snort, and then quicken the pace. "Five."

* * *

><p>"One thousand."<p>

Handing over to him the last hundred, I sigh in satisfaction and relief. The procedure is finally complete.

I look over to Zack. He's still counting the money.

"What? Was I not counting it careful enough?"

He chances a glance at me. "You know what, _you_ are once a magic dude too. You're just another cheating machine."

That triggers displeasure in me, though it also has a side effect of making me feeling proud, but I focus back on the business. "Finish counting?"

"Yeah. And it's a hundred buck short —"

"Stop that!"

"Duh . . . Kidding! You know 'kidding'?" he talks with an attitude of a caveman. "As if you're not used to that." Then he stuffs the money into his back pocket, doesn't even bother to put it into his wallet.

He turns back and looks at me, and we're dumb-gazing each other. It's an awkward moment of silence, at least for me, not sure him.

"Now what?" He shrugs. "How to begin?"

I shrug back a bigger shrug. "H- how should I know? You're the experienced one."

"But not with _guys_," he says, making a wriggly shudder. "I thought _you_ are the knowledgeable one. It's biology! The chapter about reproduction!"

"But not on the details of how to do . . . err . . . this."

He snorts, and he folds his arm . . . and then rubs his nose . . . and then snorts again.

I only stare, stupefied.

He blows out a big sigh at my face. "Okay." Then he stands up, grabbing his belt buckle.

"You take it off for me, or me doing it myself?"

"Me!" I throw my hand up. "Let me take it off for you."

He looks around again, and halts his gaze at the porthole. Suddenly, he snatches Blankie from my side table.

"Hey, where you're taking my Blankie?"

Ignoring my yell, he throws Blankie around the porthole, covering it.

Watching him from behind, I can only nod in understanding.

A few finishing touches to ensure that the cloth will stay on place, he turns around toward me, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulls out his cell. "Okay. Now you can start."

I stare at his face. He's looking at his cell phone's screen, not sure what he's doing but I don't see him texting—yet. I get on my feet, and stand right in front of him, less than one foot away.

A sigh at the sight of him, and then I try to extend it into panting. Yes, I'm trying to get myself to pant, this helps to stimulate my inner lust.

I gaze at Zack's eyes as he's watching his cell . . . then his creamy white neck . . . and to his collar bone merely visible behind the collar of his green T-shirt—his juice boy's uniform. I try to convince myself that he's a twink, though he no longer is, or at least not as much as he was a few years ago. Yet he scores the highest on my Cody's Attractiveness Scale, a staggering 8.5 through my formula of A equals T times C; in which A is for attractiveness, T for twink-look, and C for closeness.

I run my gaze down his body inch by inch, and to where the shirt and the jeans meet. I deepen my breaths, and start to pant through my mouth. The buckle head . . . below it . . . beneath the fabric of the black denim; there lies the thing I've always been dreaming of.

Testosterone begins to pump, and without realizing it my panting has turned pretty loud.

"Enough with that fucking noises!"

And there vanishes all my ambiance build-up, like a love song suddenly halted by the DJ.

I shoot him a squint. And see him typing on his phone with one hand. What the heck is he doing with his cell phone?

He notices my stare and scowls. "Hell now, quick!"

I snort. "Okay, fine."

I kneel down. "_Whoa_." Quite stunned to find his zipper inches in front. "_This is it,_" I think to myself. Having figured out that the next step is to bury my face straight into the crotch, I lean in, slowly.

The sight of his zipper gradually zooms in before me. After moments of slow-mo, I can feel my nose touches the rough surface of the denim. I've just literally poked my nose into his crotch.

I thrust my face further in. His hip shrinks back. So I wrap my arms around his hip and push it toward my face.

"Don't even think of lifting the money off my pocket," he says.

Ignoring him, now I can finally bury my face properly. The fabric on the zipper is harder than the rest of his jeans, and thus exerting different pressure on my skin as I rub my face against. I run my nose on his crotch in a circular motion. But being too periodical is kind of plain, so I shift to a more random movement. I try to have every inches of my face to come into contact with his crotch. My nose, my cheeks . . .

"Heck just straight to the point."

. . . my lips, my nasal bridge, my chin, and even forehead. I make sure all have scoured against his groin area like spreading tuna across a piece of bread, especially on the part of the zipper.

Seconds later I feel my penis erecting. Nice— though it's weird that only now it begins to harden. It's supposed to have gotten fully erect before I even have done anything.

I think I'm not stimulated to the desired level yet. I couldn't have been just half-hard at this point. So I stop my nose right on the zipper. I tilt my head a little so that I can somehow cup my nostrils onto the vertical strip of hard fabric covering the zipper, which I assume is aligned along his penis inside.

I suck in a big breath with my nose cupped against the rough surface of cloth.

Then I hold it.

"_Aaahh . . ._" The smell of . . .

_ . . . nothing_?

Unsatisfied, I stick my palms onto his back pockets and clutch his butt tight.

"Whoa, now what'cha trying to do?"

I push his hip toward me. I jam my face into his crotch and press it down hard. Then I pull a long sniff.

I hold the air in my lungs, long enough so that my nasal cavity can savor the finest detail of his aroma. His very essence . . . The pure scent of . . .

Denim. And washing agent.

"Hell enough with that! Go on to the main action!"

Irritated, I lift my head up. "Zack, I know that you don't wanna moan, but can you at least not _bemoan_?"

"But how can I not! Seeing you doing these pointless and unnecessary steps!"

"This isn't pointless!"

"It is!"

"Have you ever heard that customers are always right?"

"Oh well. Consumer's right."

I avoid rolling my eyes and hold a firm glare. I'm telling him that I'm not in a playing mood.

I focus back on his crotch, and try to bring back the mood, and more importantly bring back my full erection. But then, his shirt caught my eyes. Well I think I should go for a different spot.

I lift his shirt up. Oh cute . . . belly button.

"You didn't train your six-pack?" I ask him, rubbing my finger across his belly skin.

"It's tiring enough to get rid of the one-pack."

Remembering how chubby he was during those days, I now appreciate the sight of the no-pack before me, a white flat surface, in contrast to mine which actually curves in.

I bury my face into his abdomen, nose into his navel.

"No tongue for that region," he slips in a command.

Suppressing the protesting thought that I have every right to do whatsoever I want as long as I don't go pass the diaphragm line, I proceed by wrapping my arms around his waist, locking him close to me. I press my face into his belly skin, slotting in my nose deeper into his belly button. Then another long sniff. I hold it. Then exhale.

Now there's some smell. Not really stinks but finally some organic smell, though in fact the smell of soap is somehow stronger, but at least I smelled . . . Zack.

I jut out my lips, and swipe the inner surface around the edge of his navel. I go round and round. Once and again I try to stuff my upper lip deep inside but I can't.

Both surfaces are dry, which explains the unpleasant friction dragging the movements of my lips. So I decide to just go against him.

I slip my tongue out.

But quickly a conscious thought reminds me of the possibility that this might bring about a long unnecessary argument. So I wet my lips as an alternative.

Now that it's moisturized, I again swipe my upper lip around the inner wall of his navel. He doesn't flinch. Good.

I lick my lip. Salty. Oh I've just _tasted_ him.

"I said no tongue," he suddenly warns me.

"No I didn't!" I say. The thing that I hate the most is when people falsely accuse me, especially in a rude way.

I continue the business.

I again stick my face to his belly. I trace my nose and lips down his skin. Gradually I travel down from the belly button, and hear a metallic click when my chin touches the buckle head. I quickly skip over the metal, and find my face on his zipper again.

"_Is he hard already_?" I wonder. I'm pretty skeptical if he does, because Zack is straight, and with some degree of homophobia. Will his involuntary penile erectile still happen despite his conscious disgust? I don't know.

I tilt my head, so to make it horizontal, then I open my mouth into a biting snarl around the zipper area, and then slot the zipper strip together with his length below sideway into my jaws. I push in until my teeth have a firm clamp on his length.

Oh gosh. It's awkward that how wide my mouth is gaping. Totally doesn't feel like a sausage at all. I can have a pretty nice estimate of the size. It rather has a diameter of a typical banana together with its bark, sure enough, it has erected. It has erected to some degree, if not fully.

I remove my bite. I sit back straight—on the floor—and look back at his slightly crimped crotch, and see a pretty clear outline of his length.

I reach his box-frame belt buckle. He's wearing his old black-colored belt he wore during junior high. A cheap belt. Which makes sense since he doesn't need to wear anything grand to just—well—hang out with me.

I unbuckle it. A click sound immediately follows. I take one final look at Zack's face above, to check out whether he's squinting or at least just closing his eyes at the coming intrusion—by a guy. By a _gay_.

I mean, 'bi.'

Ironically, when I look at him, I see . . . calmness. He's still playing with his keypad, typing occasionally. His face is expressionlessly calm. Not cool though. Just calm. I guess he's somehow using his cell phone as a tool of distracting his disgust on the situation. Well, his disgust on me. But heck I paid! And this is what he needs to pay!

The metal parts of the buckle clanks like a bicycle chain as I pull out the flexible strap of thick cloth. The buckle head and the other end of the belt are still hanging in front of his crotch. Now I can see the button above the zipper, the one that's holding him from nakedness, the one which I'm unbuttoning now.

His waist band jolts loose as the joint at the button unlatches. Then I pull the zipper down. The words "Calvin Klein" come to sight, with black font on the white waist band. The groin section of his black boxer is now unveiled, only to be fully exposed as I further pull his jeans down. Some clanking noise, and the jeans' waist band finally settles on his thighs—the same way I did mine every night.

Then the only layer left is the black-and-white boxer.

I stick my right palm onto his right thigh, where my thumb directly lands on the middle of his crotch—the bulge. I slowly press my thumb into the outermost of the protruded surface.

It's . . . hard. Not due to the fabric, but the structure underneath. The outline of the crotch this time sure is a better indication of the real shape inside.

I rush my face into it again. I nuzzle and scour it and sniff it and kiss it and bite it and lick it. Then I look around the room, upon some blur reminder in my head—ah!—the chair!

I walk over to my desk and grab my cushioned steel chair. I touch his knee with the edge of the chair. "Now sit," I tell him.

He doesn't look at me. He just pulls the chair and lays down his butt. And there he sits, close enough like _he_ did last night.

I get on my knees, and find my eyes level to his . . . _neck_? Isn't that a bit too high?

Okay never mind that. I'll just crouch to reach it. But then his stomach, pretty flat when he was standing, but now when he's sitting down, has several folds of fat on it—not an ace-class feature.

Then not to wait for another yell from above, I slid my finger between his waist skin and the waist band.

"Oh this is gonna be shit," he mutters. Then his stomach expands. Obviously taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

Exhale.

His stomach flattens, and I suck a lungful of my own. I feel the pressure of the waist band pressing against my finger laid slightly on the right side above his groin. I look at the bulge dead center on the crotch, I look at Zack's pretended calmness. And I ready myself to pull the boxer down. I ready my eyes to see the thing inside . . . ready my hands to touch it . . . ready my nose to smell it . . . and my mouth to taste it . . . devour it.

I yank the waist band down, tugging the elastic down to forms a "V" shape. And something comes to sight.

"W- w- what's with the bush!" I'm stuck with my tight scowl on the golden shrub inches in front. Oh no! Pubic hairs!

"What's the hell wrong with you!" a counter shout roars over the top of my head. "And what's the hell wrong with _that_!"

I close my eyes. I take a break for breath. Yeah. My fault. I've gotten used of assuming the absence of pubic hairs. It's one realistic element that I usually just neglected in my routine fantasies.

"Nothing . . ." I reply.

I restore my vision, ignoring the blemished beauty. I should be focusing on the beauty itself instead, and there's also a hope that the pubic hairs will become negligible when he's fully erect. But the penis still lies within the unexposed region, behind the section of cloth I haven't pulled down. I strain the elastic.

The "V" shape enlarges. I'm getting impatient. My other hand mechanically goes to the other side of the waist band, strains it down hard, and tucks it below his . . .

. . . shaft.

I've just taken it out. . . . It is right before my face.

I can't help but to murmur out some random utterance of exaltation seeing the heavy trunk, stretching its length out at every big throb like a party blowout. "Wow . . . Zack . . ."

"So how's that?"

I look up and see him staring down at me. He jerks an eyebrow. "Big enough?"

Now that's something. I flash him a smile. That was the first line he's said that is actually relevant to his service. "Gotta wait till it gets full-size first before I can judge that."

Gazing back down, his penis has stopped twitching. And is fully vertical. The entire penal glans has been just above navel height. "Huge . . ."

I steal a glance at him to see his reaction to my praise, but he entertains nothing but the screen of his cell.

His foreskin is already fully retracted. The flesh at the ridged band is sticky when I touch it. The I grip the shaft. "Wow your glans . . . shiny."

"Now how the fuck did you X-ray my glands?"

"Not 'glands'," I tell him. "'_glans_'!" Then I spell it out for him. "Glans refers to your bell-end and it takes no X-ray vision to see."

He snorts, sending a few strands of my hairs into flutter. "Okay next time, avoid scientific terms," he says. "And 'dick' instead of 'penis.'"

"Better, 'cock'."

"No, just . . . '_dick_'! And just fucking go and tuck in while it's still hard!"

He lifts himself up a little to reposition his butt. I loosen my grip. The pubes tickles my pinky when he squirms around.

I bend down and zoom into his tip, slowing down in time to adjust my trajectory. A split second later, it nudges my closed lips. I let my lips to gape a little to slurp the tip, and then there's something swinging beside my head. It's his arm hanging nearby. "_Nice_."

I grab it by the wrist. "Hold my head."

He immediately twitches his arm back. "No- no- no."

I don't care. I take his arm again and wrap it around my neck.

He removes his arm. "No, Cody. . . . Don't," he says, sticking out a palm at me. "Just suck it quick, Cody, and get it done fast."

"Fine," I grunt. "Just be your crash test dummy." I yank his legs apart, but can't open them any wider—there's his boxer still sticking annoyingly high at his thighs. "Raise your feet," I order him. He lifts his feet, the shoes are off the floor. I drag the boxer down together with the jeans, slip them pass his shoes and off his feet.

I throw the pants onto Woody's bed. He leers at the jeans, keeping an eye on the pocket.

I kiss his tip again. Then I slurp the dry glans, moisturizing it. I lick my way down its bottom surface. The journey down to the root feels endless until I notice the skin I'm licking gets looser, and there I realize I've reach the testicles—'balls', in case I get too formal again.

"Cody, mind if I make a phone call?"

It feels like something's just fucked my eardrums. I launch myself toward him to snatch away the phone next to his ear. "Dare you touch the call button!"

He blocks me with the other arm. "No you don't." Then he swaps into a pouting face. "Aww please, just for a second."

I point a finger under his chin. "This is a thousand-buck business!"

There he sighs, scratching his head. "Well then . . ." he looks down and removes the cell phone from his head. "Can I make the call?"

"Fuck, no!'

"Then make me cum!" he squeaks, pretty loud that I fear people outside can hear us.

He covers his mouth in alarm, then he takes a short peek at the door. "'Kay, now quick, Cody. Suck it." He's lowered his voice time, perhaps feeling guilty.

I pull in a small breath. Then I bring myself to slurp the glans again. This time I push my head in a little, allowing the tip to slit through my jaws. The glans forces its way beyond my teeth, and I'm opening my mouth so wide—like when I did just now with his jeans still on. It doesn't take long for me to realize that my mouth feels so full. I lay eye on his shaft, and it's not even half the length. In fact it's just the glans. I've only taken in the bell-end!

My jaws feel tired. I need to keep my mouth open and snarling so that my teeth don't clamp his shaft—didn't see this one coming. Still, I have to push further down. I will it. But I'll do it very slowly, so that I can tell when I should stop, like when it has gotten too—

"Ulk!"

The cock is poking the blood vessels in my throat as a hand pushes the back of my head. "Take it all in."

I throw his penis out before I can even make sense of things, then I double over and retch at the floor. Zack goes stiff and lifts himself off the chair, almost standing, until he sees nothing coming out of my mouth.

"You're okay?" he asks, sitting back down.

I wipe off tear in my eyes and nod slightly. "Never thought I . . ." Cough. ". . . can't take the whole thing in."

Zack shrugs off his frown, as if he's done nothing to me just now.

I find the edge of my bed to help myself stand back up. Now I have a zoomed-out view of him from over my bed. He's looking at his cell with legs wide open. And there I call to mind a step that I've left out—I forgot to smell his dick.

I stoop over to reach the chair he's in and bring my nose close to his—"Yuck!"

An unbearable stench corrodes my nasal cavity! His penis smells like rotten eggs!

Zack throws a scowl at me. "Now what?"

"Your dick!" I spit. "It has the odor of volatile sulfur compounds such as hydrogen sulfide, methyl mercaptan . . ." I'm about to run down the list when an awkward realization strikes me.

"Owh sorry. It's my mouth."

Zack is still holding his knitted brows.

"Haven't got to drink anything since I woke up," I add. "And couldn't find my Listerine."

He makes a sullen snort and touches his forehead. "The weirdest blowjob I've ever received."

I kneel back into position. I stare at his penis, then get a grip on it again. To be frank, I'm quite disgusted for another slurp.

"Zack . . ." I call him.

"What again?"

"Those girls . . ." I force a short lick at the tip. "Could they actually take it all in?"

"You mean those chicks?" He gazes away from his cell. "Yeah. And they're really good at it."

So the girls could do it. And I can't. Also I know it when Zack uses the word "really" instead of "real", he really does mean it. Those girls must've made him moaning, panting loud, and caressing their head as they're bobbing up and down.

"But Codes . . ." Zack sets away his cell and looks at me. "Really, can we do this like a bit faster, I mean like _way_ faster?" I frown upon his complaint. I know how uncomfortable he is now and wanting to finish this quickly, but can't he hold on a bit longer?

"Because I have to see Marcus later at ten for his magic course I'd promised."

The table clock is pointing at 9:20.

"What the fuck!" I cry to his dick like a microphone. "So you mean my first time has its time limit? And it's forty minute?"

He bends down and pats a hand on my shoulder. "Calm down. Forty minutes is a long time to—"

"Not for a guy to suck out a straight guy's semen!" I grab the pillow on my bed and send it flying across the room and it lands at the corner near the toilet door. Then I glare at him, panting. "And I don't think your system has worked out any to ejaculate so far."

"C'mon it's _my_ dick and I know exactly how long it's gonna take to cum."

I fall prone on my bed. I don't response. I hate his time management. Scheduling a thousand-dollar deal and a—how much was it? I forgot—another deal in such timing.

"It's so . . ." I croak. ". . . devastating." I rub my eyes. I can't put up a fight with him now. Not in a middle of this. But I hate him. I thought he'll be mine the whole day. Be able to observe everything closely so I can include it in my story. I thought it's a possession. Not a _game_. Not a can-you-make-him-ejaculate-in-forty-minutes challenge.

"Cody?"

I hold my emotion. "_Enough!_" I shove my anger aside, and then snap myself back from the soulless stare.

I sit back straight. "Now resume."

He swaps into a dumb doubtful frown. "What?"

I roll the rest of my body up the mattress. Then I motion at him. "Let's move over to the bed."

He looks puzzled. "You're not angry anymore?" he asks, then he stands up, penis bouncing up and down.

"If I do, I'm creating another reason for me to get angry later," I reply, scooting to the other side to make a space for him. "Though I'm losing the chance to analyze you fully, but I think you can still hit orgasm on time."

He chokes out a big chuckle. "'_Analyze_'?" He nods sarcastically, and then lands his knees on the mattress next to me, arms on waist. "Good. Then what to do now?"

I point at the sneakers on his feet. "Your shoes."

"Oops, almost crossed your no-shoe line." He kicks off his sneaker, and then gets himself up the bed.

He's on his knees. I crouch down to the height of his penis, and kiss the tip. The angle of the erection is more horizontal this time around when he's not sitting. It's no longer pointing toward me, and I find myself hard to slurp it now. So I scoop it up with my lower lip. I try to lift it to a desirable angle, but it suddenly flexes and flicks my nose up. And I smell the spit again.

Think I'm going to do something about it.

"You wait there." I tell him as I jump down the bed and toward Woody's desk, and then I take the bottle of mineral water he'd left before. No time to get weirded out about his spit, I take several mouthfuls of it. That should help rinsing my throat.

I head back to the bed, bringing together the remaining bit. Zack's already sitting on the edge of my bed. "Don't move," I tell him. Then I press his pubic hairsdown against his groin, and slowly pour the water onto his shaft, glans and everything.

"Your floor's wet," he says, wandering his toes across the patch of water.

"Better than wetting my bed." I set the bottle next to the clock on my side table. "Now get laid."

He relaxes down on my bed, with his arms folded behind his head. I don't bother to pick up my pillow for him, a walk to the corner over there is a waste of time.

I stare at his erection. It has tumbled onto his navel. Then he mutters, "Here he goes again. . . ."

I rest my head sideway on his waist. My right ear is cupping his abdomen right on the navel. His stomach is lifting me up and down. Then I realize how close my head to his penis when the tip starts tickling my nose. "Oi. Hard to breath," he starts complaining.

I thrust my head forward and shove his penis up vertical, at the same time stamping down the pubic hairs with my cheek. His shaft is leaning against my face. For the first time, I'm going try a sideway approach—I lick his shaft near the root, then I clamp it like I did with his jeans still on. It doesn't feel as big now as it was then. More like a banana without the bark.

I take away my jaw. "So is this fully hard?" I ask him.

He glances down. "A second . . ." Then he stiffens his erection. A sharp flex. "Pretty much yes," he replies.

I take the glans into my mouth. I think I'd better off carry on with the regular sucking in order to pick up the pace, or I might not be able to get him to ejaculate before ten.

Halfway in, it starts to feel uncomfortable again. I want to take a look at his face as I'm forcing the length in, but I can't. I'm now facing exactly the opposite direction—toward his feet.

I push myself. No way I can't take the entire length. But again, once the tip dips into my throat, I gag.

Admitting defeat, I take it out, and continue by licking it. "Zack I think I'm already in love with you."

"Damn, please don't say any shitty thing."

"I think I'm serious," I turn to stare at him. "I mean, I think maybe, I'm in love with you now."

He snorts. "Oh whatever." Then he faces me. "But at this rate, Cody, I think we can only make it for one round."

"What do you mean?" I ask him. At times it's hard for me to make out a speech with street jargons.

"Means there's time for only one cumshot," he explains.

"So you mean usually you do it many times?"

His face plummets straight into his palm before I even finish the sentence. "Well, of course!" he hoots. "What, you think couples meet at a hotel, 'oh I came', then put back their clothes on, and 'Let's go back honey, I got schoolwork to do'?"

"Well . . . I thought that how it'll be like." I go for another slurp. I suck it. Push. And it's all in—hey I just did it! I take it out after holding for several seconds. Then I happily turn to him with a huge smile.

He's folding his arms, scowling. "So what the heck actually that made you think that forty minutes isn't enough?"

I carry on with stroking. "Ever used the automated pay toilet in Toronto?" I say.

"Nope. Why?"

"The door will open in twenty minutes even if you haven't finished—"

"Yes but this is forty—"

"Even when you haven't—"

"This is forty—"

"THAT'S how it feels like!" I subdue him with loudness, stopping him dead. And he really does shut the hell up. "I just don't like being rushed, okay?

He's silence of a few second, before he finally replies, "Oh fine." I bet he's feeling guilty now.

His penis has gone slightly soft. "_Oh no you don't_." I stroke it faster, using entire hand.

"No Cody, just use your mouth."

"It's going soft!" I cry.

"That's why I'm telling you just use your mouth."

I halt my arm, at something that doesn't sound right, before turning to leer at him. "You mean it'd be better that way?"

He jerks his head stoically. "Ump."

I hold my eyes at him, reluctant to turn away. My mind is urging me to derive some meaning from that, however irrational it might be. Then before I realize it, his penis has recovered to full erection. I stop my hand and begin working with my mouth.

* * *

><p>I jam his penis into my mouth. Just when it gets deep enough, he calls me. "Err, Cody . . ."<p>

I gag. Take it back out. "What?"

"Are you like . . . just gonna suck it, and then done?"

I rub the tip with my finger to hold it from going soft. "Then what else should I do?"

"Like . . ." he stammers, "you don't wanna try jizz inside of me?"

"You mean?"

He grabs his jeans on Woody's bed and rummages the front pockets. "Here, take this." He hands over a small bottle of liquid to me.

"Johnson Baby?" I gasp. It's a bottle of baby oil.

"I prefer to call it 'lube'."

"Huh?" I say. I've just come to realize that this is in fact crazy. I don't know what's happening. And I can't seem to believe what I'm about to understand from this situation.

"So you want it or not?"

"You mean . . . me, into you?" I hesitate. "Serious?"

"Heck you don't have to keep asking, do you?" he yells. "I'm giving you the opportunity to _anal_yze me now! It's fine if you don't want to, you can carry on sucking my dick till ten."

I scratch my head. I don't know how I should respond to craziness like this. "Have you shitted this morning?"

He balks into a moment of recalling. Then he nods. "Yeah I have."

I remove the cap and take a sniff on the liquid. "So how to do this one?"

"Argh, stop asking and just fucking do it!" he barks. "I just want to know how it feels."

"But Zack." A suspicion turns on my worry. "So you never used condom with those girls before?"

His face flicks into a grimace. "You're kidding me? Of course I have. Always!" he says, pretty convincingly. "What? We don't need that, do we?"

I'm really not sure whether I should do this. There's no condom. But I guess it'd be safe enough, considering he always use condom before. And then there's another thing. If I'm to do this, the first thing I should do is of course taking off my pant.

But I don't want him to see my penis.

He snatches the bottle from me. "Fine, you don't want. I've just made a dope out of myself."

"Zack . . ." I pout. "But I have pubic hairs."

He goes scratching his head like there's a colony of flees in his hair. "Well of course you have! Hurry up or you can forget about it."

"I guess . . . okay . . ." I pull my trousers down to my knee. Then my boxer. My half-hard penis hangs out. Great. Now Zack has seen my penis.

"Hey when did you circumcise?" he asks startled looking at my groin area.

"But I didn't," I answer him, feeling like wanting to pull my boxer back on. "I just get used to retract the foreskin to stimulate the effect of circumcision."

"Fool. You're bringing down the sensitivity."

"No fool." I insist. "Health first. Sex second."

* * *

><p>He crouches. His bottom is facing me as I'm kneeling toward him. I squeeze the lotion onto my hand. "Where to apply this?"<p>

He's slow to reply, so I straight away spread the lotion onto my penis. It's still half-erect.

He's crouching like a dog, knees close together. I put my hands on his hip, and grab. So who's the girl now?

I point my tip towards his anus. But then I notice his buttocks are sticking together. "Hey open up your legs," I say.

He doesn't respond, like a deaf dog. So I crouch down and grab one of his legs on the knee, and yank it to the side. Then the other leg.

Done. His buttocks are now wide open. I aim my tip again. Then I thrust.

It doesn't do anything. The opening is too tight. And my penis is not hard enough. "Can't get it in," I tell him, like a flight engineer reporting to the captain, only we're not dealing with a cockpit now, but rather a cock and a pit. "Or should I use my finger first?"

"Just do whatever it takes," he answers sounding like a captain.

I squeeze out the lotion and apply it on his anus. Then I look at his head, waiting to see how'd his reaction be as I carefully slid my middle finger—

"Ouch!" He jumps.

I twitch my arm back. "W- w- What?"

He backs off against the headrest. He sucks a lungful through his teeth, wincing. "Argh. Looks like it hurts," he groans, hands on his bottom.

I approach him. "So what should I do so it doesn't hurt?"

"Maybe by not doing it?" he replies, snarling, pulling himself together.

"But Zack!"

"No, no." He shakes his head. "I never thought it's hurting that much!"

"I was just starting to get interested."

"And I'm just getting freaked out!"

I grab his arm and yank him up. "Let's try it again."

"I say no." He swings away my arm and I lose my grip. "It's not part of the deal either!" He glances down on my groin area. "You can put back your pants on."

Major let-down. I tug my boxer and trouser back onto my waist.

"Now get back to sucking or you wouldn't even get to drink my cum."

He gets back to lying on the mattress, becoming a man again. He reaches out to get his cell phone on the side table. "Eighteen minutes to ten."

Oh gosh! I'd better be quick! I grip his penis. And it has gone even softer! So I stroke it out of desperation.

"Told you to use your mouth."

* * *

><p>I'm sucking his penis, with several failed attempts to do deep throat.<p>

"Ten minutes," he says, turning away from the clock.

"Zack, I'm stroking it out!" I'm dead worried now, afraid that he simply cannot hit orgasm with me around.

He sits up. "That's strange. It shouldn't be taking this long." Then he shoos me off the bed. "Step back."

He snatches his penis, with cell phone in the other hand. "Sorry, Codes. But think I need this," he says, and presses a few buttons on the keypad.

Short after that, the phone starts producing some strange sound. Strange yet familiar.

It's woman's moan.

I touch my temple. "Aww . . ."

He flips to his side and curls up into a ball, then he stare at the screen and begins stroking. I gawp and watch.

He's stroking very fast, like when he's preparing a milkshake. His whole body is throbbing like a car failing to start.

I chuckle pathetically. "So this is how you masturbate?"

"Silence." He continues to focus on the porn. I can hear that two or more women are moaning out of the speaker, but the tapping sound of Zack stroking his penis is even louder, like when chopping carrot to slices with a big kitchen knife.

"Zack, stop when it's about to come out. Let me pull the last trigger."

He nods without even looking at me. He carries on stroking. But a few seconds into it, the women's moaning stops. He pauses for a short while to select the next video. Then he's back into stroking again, occasionally taking a short break and switching hands. His foreskin is going on and off . . .

"Stop staring or I can't cum!"

"Tsk." I take a small step backward. But I'm still watching him anyway. No way am I giving away this free show. This is so unlike what I assumed how things should happen at all. But I love this sight. He's watching porn, and so am I. I focus on his penis. Strangely, it doesn't appear as big now as when I was seeing it close up. Pretty much the same length with mine in the mirror. Or maybe my mind just exaggerated it to satisfy myself, not sure, but argh, I forgot to take measurement of his penis just now . . .

"Oops." He suddenly halted. "Cody, it's going out."

"Oh shit!" I jump up the mattress. Then I kiss his tip.

He does another slow stroke through his length, and that's when he his entire body jolts.

And the next thing I realize is my lips are all wet.

He throbs a few times. Then tumbles.

I keep my lips sticking to his tip, and slurp everything into my mouth. Then I stand back straight.

He flips and lies on his back. His eyes wide open. Staring at the ceiling, panting.

While I'm having my first taste of what I've ever wanted since I've been into guys. The taste of semen in my mouth.

Zack glances on me through the corner of his eyes, still panting. "So, how does it, taste, then?"

I stick out a hand telling him to wait as I allow the semen to get onto my tongue. I wince at how weird it tastes. And I mean it—_weird_. But I couldn't just spit it back out. It's what I was dying for anyway.

"You haven't swallowed it?"

I nod. I'm spreading even the semen to every corner of my mouth. He is watching me as I do.

I cough.

"You already swallowed it then, how does it taste?"

"Like . . ." I stammer. I'm not sure how to describe this. "Like when you finished a glass of milkshake, save the ice, then dip the receipt paper in it, wait till the ice melts, and then drink it. That's how it tastes like."

He twitches his head and frowns. "How'd you get a taste on that sort of thing?"

"One of your pranks last year," I growl.

"Oh really?" he says softly. Then he looks away.

He stares at the direction opposite to me, and petrifies himself there. Like a patient just waking up from a comma and trying to have a thorough flashback of his past.

Really, I don't know what he's thinking. But the thing is, shouldn't he hurry up to meet Marcus now?

I scan his body once again. On his groin. His penis has shrunken. Fully shrunken. This is the first time I'm seeing its flaccid state. Pretty small. And still wet.

Then he jumps off the mattress, on his feet.

"Zack?" I call him. It's not a happy thing to know that it's over now.

He ignores me and trudges his way to Woody's bed. His pants are all scattered there.

He grabs the boxer and slips it on, then he takes the jeans.

"Zack?" I call him again.

He pulls up his zipper. Freezes. Then out of the blue, he twists around and jams a firm finger under my chin. "I'm telling you, Cody," he grunts. "I did this all for the money. I'm straight!"

I slowly push away his hand, not sure if I'm scared. "Well of course you are," I say. "You're a skirt chaser. Everybody knows that."

He snatches his cell phone he's left on the mattress. "No one's going to know this thing," he warns me.

I nod.

He slips his feet into his sneakers like they're slippers, then he takes out the cash in his back pocket and runs a last check to make sure it's one thousand.

Satisfied, he paces toward the door.

My eyes follow him. But just before he reaches the door handle, "I think I love you," I blurted.

He balks, staring at the handle with unfocused eyes. "Don't, ever, bring up this thing again, okay?" he says, not turning to me. "This has _never_ happened."

I nod again in submission. By saying "this thing" instead of "this shit", he really means business.

"Sick. Sick. _Sick_!" He jerks the door open. "I'mma start going to church this Sunday on," he says, when he finally turns around at me. "And you. Stay away from me until I get over this thing. Use your twink telepathy to get you a new crush. Don't talk to me for six months."

The door slams shut.

My gaze is stuck at the closed door, my whole body petrified. "I love you . . ." a whisper escapes my mouth.

The sound of the spinning fan returns audible. And then the ticking sound of clocks. I'm alone now. It's over. I'm back to Earth.

The exchange is done. I've paid my one-grand cash, and I just got what I wanted. I got his penis in my mouth, the whole length. . . . I got his semen. . . . I almost got his butt. And then there's this six months of _quarantine_. Great. We're strangers now.

I feel like I'm somehow being bullied, abused. By someone who used to protect me. Someone I'd seek for comfort when I was bullied. And now I can find no one to talk this thing out with.

Tear rapidly blurs my vision. The weird taste on my tongue is fading.

I cover my mouth to hold myself from mourning. But that's when I smell the baby oil on my hand. And I can smell Zack, through my middle finger. I'm gross.

A loud rustle reverberates from the direction of the porthole. Suddenly, a strong wind bursts through the porthole which hasn't been closed correctly, and Blankie falls to the ground. Sun light shines through the porthole. A circle of light forms on my desk. Right on my laptop.

Almost mechanically, I climb up to my desk, and sit down in front of my laptop. The screen lights up when I touch the mouse.

It might not be a scientific fact that making yourself busy can help you get over emotional problems, but . . . I open up Microsoft Word. I just have a new story to write. An idea that just sprung into my head a moment ago. This stupid little thought . . . Yes. I'm going to write this down before I forget the details. I have to write this. A random, stupid story. With the title that doesn't take me long to come up with. And I type it in bold:

"When Lust Meets Greed."


End file.
